


cadillac spills

by zoroarks



Category: Baby Driver (2017), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Divergent Timelines, M/M, Not Kingsman: The Golden Circle Compliant, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoroarks/pseuds/zoroarks
Summary: baby's perfected the image of his release for the last five years in this prison cell: being escorted outside of those electric gates for this first time since he entered them, seeing debora waiting with a shiny new ride, driving off and never looking back, living off the road without a care in the world - just like they'd planned, even though it feels like so long ago.when the day comes, there's no debora, and no car. just an empty world and a reunion with someone entirely different, and he says they're going to "motherfucking england." how's he supposed to say no to such a lunatic?





	1. let down

it's raining when he gets out of prison, five-year sentence coming to an end and twenty years of probation in his future. they sign him out in the morning, and he's taken to a public bus stop, told he's required to visit the probation and social security offices - otherwise, he'll be sent back into incarceration for the rest of the sentence, without a chance of parole. that's about all he gets, though: the ride, the instructions, and the clothes on his back. miles doesn't have a bus pass, or money to buy one, nor does he have a phone he can use to call anyone (or anyone to call, it seems).

for a good half an hour, he just sits on a bench, waiting, wishing he had his music and about five bucks so he could get all the way back to atlanta without walking all the way there or stealing a ride. wishes aren't getting him anywhere, though, and if he breaks the smallest law, he knows he's getting his ass shipped back to his good old prison cell. it doesn't matter that this isn't fair, or that the only place he's ever really known is hours away. the judge won't care about any of that - baby's heard his fair share of stories these past few years.

so, walking it is, then.

by the time he's in familiar territory, the sun's already set, and the sky is as dark as it ever gets in a city like this. he feels like he's about to pass out, entire body aching, because he's definitely not as fit as he was before his incarceration - never got around to exercising while he was there, not really. he never thought he'd need it again, but he couldn't have been more wrong. utterly exhausted, he wanders for a while, trying to figure out what it is he's going to do, where he's going to go. before he knows it, he's lying down in the same park that he'd bolted through in that final chase, running away from the cops, as well as the life that led him into their radar.

he passes out on a bench, falls onto the sidewalk in his sleep, and still doesn't wake up from whatever nightmare his release has sparked - sleeping or waking.

* * *

when he does wake up, he's not in the park at all. it looks like more like a parking garage, actually - definitely abandoned, because there's a complete lack of cars, replaced with cracks and weeds and bugs of every shape and size and color. for a moment, he just lies there, trying to figure out why he isn't where he always is. the release floods back to him, the long walk, falling asleep outside because he doesn't have a home. none of it seems to explain why he's here, though, and as soon as this clicks in his head, he shoots into a sitting position, frantically looking around in the hopes that he'll recognize his surroundings. he doesn't, and that's never good, because it means someone else is going to have the upper hand, so he can't-

"baby."

-escape.

 the voice is familiar, and it rings clear through the worse-than-ever ring of tinnitus in the driver's - no,  _ex-_ driver's - ears. there's a pause, then he stands up and spins around, preying that this isn't what, or who, he thinks it is. griff.

"or, should i say, miles? that's what they called you on the news," he says, slyly, and the look on his face makes baby want to punch him. would that count as a crime? would that gent him sent back to prison? at this point, he isn't even sure if it matters. still, he holds himself back, grinding his teeth and trying to keep his stare dead. it seems like he's out of practice there, too, though, because he hasn't had any emotions to hide for quite a while. he'd considered himself lucky before, not having much to worry about inside of the prison, but he's starting to wish he'd been the target of a gang or something, because then he wouldn't feel quite as out of his element right now. _shit, shit, shit._

baby speaks quietly, because the words feel like they're forming into chunks and getting stuck in his throat, but he manages to say, "you were dead." now that he's thinking about it, that's just something he'd assumed. people die all the time, in their line of work, be it on the job or from an overdose: cocaine, usually. different people have different poisons, though, and he, for one, never cares to ask. nor does he care when he never sees someone again.

"what, like buddy and darling? like bats?" the older man snorts; he doesn't seem to have changed in the last few years, and in a broader way than how he's still roaming the earth. "i told you: if you never see me again, it's 'cause i'm dead. but what are you seeing right now, baby?" when he doesn't get a response, griff takes a step forwards and barks, "what do you see?"

"you," is the quick response, followed by a hard swallow. last time they had an encounter like this, his expression hadn't changed once - now, it's painted will a dull coat of terror as griff closes the distance between them and gives him a hard slap on the back.

"attaboy. i'm glad you're not in that shithole prison anymore - i've been waiting for you out here, you know? lying low and everything. which fucking sucks, by the way. thanks for asking." before baby can ask why he was waiting, exactly, he gets an answer. it's not one that he wants to hear. "i've got plans for us, baby. consider me your new doc. you wanna know what we're gonna do? we're traveling. we're hitting the world. no one's gonna recognize you out of the country, baby, trust me on that."

"where?" he doesn't want to go, but he knows he doesn't have a choice. griff is more dangerous right now then he ever was when they were with a team. right now, it's just the two of them. this really is a nightmare, and all he wants to do is wake up. his frown deepens when he doesn't get an answer, when griff keeps his mouth shut for the first time in his life in favor of grabbing miles' arm and dragging him towards a car that he'd missed in his first scan of this decrepit building. "tell me where," he repeats, heels desperately searching for traction against the aged pavement, and he nearly falls over because he's the weaker of the two of them right now in every way imaginable.

"fucking england, baby." is he serious? "we're flying to fucking england." yeah, he is.

so he sits in the passenger seat when griff shoves him there, and he digs his nails into his palms, and he tries to keep himself together so he can think of a plan. it's too bad his thoughts are racing, and he can't sit still, much less formulate a way to escape this man's clutches. now that they have a little light from the dash, he can see a gun at griff's waist, only serving to freak him out even more.

by the time they've gotten where they need to be, baby realizes for the first time flying hadn't meant a passenger plane. this can't be legal, or safe, and he continues to think that, sort of distanced from the situation at hand, as they board the little aircraft and he sits there with griff and they fly all the way across the ocean. it's his first time flying, but he's sure that's not the only reason he feels like his life is in danger and his stomach lurches every five minutes. no wonder he doesn't fall asleep the entirety of their trip, and neither does the one holding him hostage, but that's probably because he's fucking wired all the time.

they almost crash and die when they land, but their pilot manages to get them there. after another long exchange with griff, during which baby sits down and tries not to shake, some more bills are exchanged between them. he's dragged to the ground with a "come on, it's time to go," and he has to bend over and vomit on the pavement for a couple minutes before he manages to walk again. there's another car for them, and it mixes baby up because he's sitting in the seat that he's always driven in - but it's the passenger's side, now, and he doesn't like it. he doesn't like any of it, including griff's constant rambling. half of it is just cursing, anyway, so he tries not to pay any attention; he gets shouted at every once in a while for it, but that's more than worth it, in his opinion.

finally, griff seems to find a shitty motel that suits him. he takes baby inside, tells him to stay quiet as he buys the cheapest room on hand - must be running low on funds, if he's been "lying low" for this long, the younger man reasons. the temperature isn't even controlled in their room, and he lies down on the floor instead of the bed, because it's cooler on the wood than it is on top of the sheets. the heat doesn't help his stomach, which is still doing backflips - he can handle any maneuver there is on the road, but he never wants to fly again.

he never wants to do  _anything_ again.


	2. the boys are back in town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song baby listens to in here is "mr. brightside" by the killers. (sue me.) you can listen to that at the right point (fourth paragraph after the break) if you think it'll help you set the mood! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ll8icmGWzMY

it's at least a week or two before he's allowed to do anything - maybe more, because baby's having a lot of trouble figuring out times and dates in here, but god knows he's trying his best. there's not really much leading up to it; no hints or pep talks or anything of the sort, and this lack of preparation honestly rings true to griff's nature. what he does do is roughly shake baby awake at some point, shoving a beaten-up music player into his hands, then throwing some earbuds after a delay, like they're nothing but an afterthought. "that'll work?" the man asks, but it feels, to baby, like he isn't going to care what kind of answer he gets.

knowing exactly what his captor means, baby hurries to turn the device on, squinting at the screen because it feels so bright in this dim, dilapidated space. once the driver spots just a few songs he knows, he nods and says, "for now, yeah."

"good," comes griff's reply, curt and apathetic. he says, "come on, _baby,_ " stressing that name in a way that makes miles shiver with nervous apprehension - he scrambles to his feet just in time, because he's sure he was about to get dragged. the younger man opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted prematurely as griff reaches into his pockets and procures sunglasses. they look cheap. "almost forgot."

the plastic feels like it'll splinter if he holds it wrong, but baby accepts them and gingerly puts them on, not caring if it's day or night.

* * *

as it turns out, griff still has enough sense to run their first job under the cover of darkness. it's almost like all the other heists and robberies baby's committed: he'll slowly drive up, park until the crime's done, then flee the scene before the police arrive (ideally) or escape them if they happen to show up earlier than desired (likely). unlike the others, this one is a two-man arrangement, and he doubts he's going to get a dollar - pound, rather - of the profit. when they step outside, he's worried that his skills will be rusty, and they'll get caught, or killed. it all comes flooding back as soon as he's in the driver's seat, though, wrong side of the car or not. confidence floods back into him; not enough to get him out of his situation, or even to think about it, but definitely enough to get him through the night.

these circumstances aren't ideal, because he didn't have time to make an actual playlist, and he doesn't know these streets. memorizing places fast is a skill he was forced to develop, though, and he has an excellent sense of direction. apparently, their first target is a jewelry store - is that cliché, or what? baby says the security's going to be tight. griff says "shut the fuck up, baby."

once again, he does as he's told.

their stop is slow and smooth, even though that's not how the driver's feeling. a short while after his "partner" leaves the car and breaks in, using just as much finesse as expected (none), baby starts the song. he hasn't heard music in a while, and the way it washes over him is far more refreshing than being in a vehicle had been. the driver glances up, trying to gauge how much longer he has to wait, but the answer is suddenly upon him as griff is  _there,_ flinging the car door open and jumping inside. his duffel bag is zipped, but the driver knows it has to be full of cash and jewelry. he also knows a silent alarm must've been set off, and that's why he only hesitates for a moment; a note is held, then dropped, and he's slamming the gas as soon as instrumentals fade once again, giving way for more vocals. everything happens in rhythm, aside from the sirens in the distance - not that distant, though, not really. baby doesn't feel stressed, though. not at all.

only going a little faster than an innocent man would, he takes some unneeded turns and shadier streets, and they're back in their base of operations without one physical run-in with the authorities. baby doesn't expect a "thank you" or a pat on the back, and he doesn't get any surprises. griff really is a predictable guy (most criminals are, of course, but this one more than most). the driver wonders if he's the same way, then decides he probably isn't. those people who're dead because of him hadn't expected a thing, and he knows it.

deciding not to dwell on the past, baby heads back inside, to his spot, earbuds still blasting. he gets to keep them; it's probably his reward. this isn't the last time he'll need them, though; not even close. they settle into a routine quickly enough, robbing a store almost every night, and baby stops bothering to object to this. their odds of getting caught should be raising higher and higher, yet, neither of them do anything about it. they have the best getaway driver in the world, right? that's what griff said, at least. that's why they're here, terrorizing london like the americans they are. at this point, he can't even remember which places he has and hasn't helped steal from, day or night.

one such place is the elegant-looking tailor shop on savile row. it skips his mind just as quickly as all the rest, nothing particular about the crime that would make it stand out against the aforementioned routine. baby finds, just like he had years ago, that ignoring little details makes the guilt of what he's doing a lot easier to bear, forced or not - and that's exactly what he's doing. griff forgets, too, because he's hardly planning or putting any thought into much of anything, and he's surviving from hit to hit, almost always drugged up on one thing or another (always hyper, though, never sedated, something miles had taken a mental note of all the way back when they first met).

the tailor shop in question doesn't let it go so easily, though. kingsman takes note of this particular incident, as well as all of the similar ones in the area from the past few weeks.

from there, they think.

and they watch.

and they wait.


End file.
